


Mr Sandman, give me a dream

by RedSnow1



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Clara Oswin Oswald's Death, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Face the Raven, Heartbreaking, Love, Memories, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Raven - Freeform, Regret, Sad Ending, Soulmates, True Love, Twelfth Doctor Era, Twelfth Doctor Whump, failure - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSnow1/pseuds/RedSnow1
Summary: “Doctor, it’s coming. Please, hurry…” She whispers, her eyes staring at something behind him.“What’s coming?” He yells, running at full speed.He hears it then. The somber cawing of the Raven, right next to him. The Doctor turns his head, and sees the macabre creature flying rapidly towards his sweet Clara, ready to take her away from him.Not again./OS/Whouffaldi Week, Day 2 : Nightmare and Dream
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17
Collections: Whouffle Week 2020





	Mr Sandman, give me a dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again!
> 
> New day, new story, but this time, it is a bit more sad than yesterday (sorry). Hope you like it nevertheless.
> 
> Huge thank you to my beta, @Praetyger for your precious help and advice. Without you, this story wouldn't have been the same.  
> And as always, thank you my dear friend @Persephonia1 for your never ending support, and your care. Love you !
> 
> And finally, thanks to all my friends in the diner, you rock <3
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, leave a kudo, it's always appreciated!  
> Happy reading!

He can hear her scream.

Her voice is muffled, distant — a cry for help carried out by the wind. 

But there is no mistaking. 

It’s hers. Who else could it be, but the girl he has forgotten?

She’s calling out his name, clearly distressed. 

_ Doctor. _

Begging him to save her. 

It’s all coming back now, the sound of her voice — Oh how he wished she could have laughed just so he could hang on to that idea. Maybe she will — once he saves her. Because he will.

The Doctor looks around, searching for her in the darkness. Clara is nowhere to be seen. The voice is coming from the corridor he is facing, echoing from behind the closed doors. She could be in any of them. Where is she ? How would he help her? And she keeps on screaming — and every time, his hearts break a little further. Hearing his name on her lips reminds him how much he has missed it. Having her around, travelling the universe with her. Being her hero. Calling her name.

So he doesn’t think about it twice. He runs. He just runs to her before it’s too late, his long strides carrying him towards her voice. Because she is out there, and she needs him. He can’t let her down. Not this time. Not ever.

He runs to the first room, pushes the door open. It’s empty, gathering dust, a white sheet covering most of the furniture. The ghost of a bedroom, filled with broken toys scattered on the floor — a children’s room. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear a boy and a girl playing hide and seek. They must have left in a hurry. No children would leave their dolls behind like that.

He calls her. Screams her name. 

_ Clara. _

She needs to know that he is here, that he is coming for her. He will save her as he has always done. He quickly closes the door, and moves on to the next. And the next. The corridor never seems to end, her voice is breaking. Is she crying?  _ Hold on, Clara. Be brave, just a little longer _ , he thinks.  _ I’m coming for you. _

Every time he opens a door, it leads him to a dead end. Every time he opens a door, he slightly loses hope at ever finding her. 

But her voice — her voice is guiding him into the dark, pushing him to keep on going. 

He won’t rest until he finds her. The Doctor doesn’t know how many rooms he opens — the corridor never seems to end. Every time, the voice comes from behind the door. Every time, the room is empty.

He finds another room. The number twelve is written on it. He tries to push the handle, but it’s locked. He smiles.  _ Interesting. Nice try. But that won’t stop me. _

He tries to force it to open, but it’s no use. The door is old, heavy, and even if he gathers all his strength, he won’t be able to open it. It won’t give up so easily. He is the Doctor, and he saves people. He has more than one trick up his sleeve. The Doctor pats his coat, looking for his favorite tool and reaches for his screwdriver. With a wave of the hand, he sonics the lock until it gives up. The door clicks. With a heavy lurch of the shoulder, he manages to get into the other side.

A wide street. Lamp post barely providing any light. Deserted, silent — except for her screams.

He stops dead in his tracks, overwhelmed by the mere sight of her.

There she is, standing at the end, her face twisted with horror and fright. Her hair is falling on her shoulders gracefully, her big brown eyes open wide. She wears that sweet blue-grey shirt with a Peter Pan collar that makes her look adorable and teacher-y. There she is, his Clara — Oh, he has forgotten how beautiful she is. But he remembers now. He remembers the way her eyes shine when she laughs, the way she pouts when she doesn’t get what she wants. She is staring at him, shoulders back, her hand reaching out for him. And he wants nothing more than to tangle their fingers together.

“Clara !” He roars, resuming his never ending run.

He doesn’t care if his lungs are burning, if his legs are aching. He doesn’t care that he is out of breath, that his hearts are beating wildly in his chest. He is running to Clara now that he remembers her. He has to reach her — He has to save her. Only then, would he be able to hold her tight, and never let her go. He has so many things he wants to say to her, so many words rushing through his mind. Not now. Now, he has to hurry. Because Clara is scared, and in danger.

Because Clara is here — she is back.

“Doctor, it’s coming. Please, hurry…” She whispers, her eyes staring at something behind him.

Puzzled, the Doctor loses speed, unsure of what she means by that. He hasn’t seen anything threatening her on his way — but his eyes had been drawn irrevocably towards her. Maybe he had missed something important. His hearts are menacing to fly off his chest.

“What’s coming?” He yells, running at full speed.

He hears it then. The somber cawing of the Raven, right next to him. The Doctor turns his head, and sees the macabre creature flying rapidly towards his sweet Clara, ready to take her away from him. 

Not again.

Not — Oh, but he has seen it before. He remembers now. He remembers the Raven, plunging into Clara’s chest. Her scream of agony followed by the heavy smoke leaving her lungs. He remembers her body, bending weakly, as she falls gracefully into the ground. It has happened before. He can’t let it happen again. Not for anything.

The Doctor runs faster, his feet barely touching the ground. He almost feels as if he is flying — flying to her. The Raven is tailing him, following his every move, its long, dark wings flapping grimly by his side. He doesn’t pay attention to it : his eyes are fixed on her. He is getting closer now, his cheeks are burning from all the running.

_ I won’t let it take you, Clara. I promise,  _ he repeats in his head, like a mantra urging him to go faster, always faster. He doesn’t know whether he promises it to her, or to himself and either way it doesn’t matter. 

He can almost touch her now — just a few more steps and she will be safe in his arms. Just one last run… 

He touches her before the Raven does. He takes her hand, and engulfs her into the tightest hug, shielding her body with his. He closes his eyes, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. She smells like flowers, and spring. And it feels right. It feels good. And he holds on tighter because he is scared of letting her go. But Clara shakes violently in his arms and he wonders what’s wrong. He turns his head towards hers and sees the pain written all over her features.

That’s when he notices that his arms are covered in dark, long feathers. He takes a step back, tries to say something, but only a sad, terrifying caw escapes from his mouth. He looks at Clara — Clara whose face is distorted by pain — Clara whose screams echo in the corridor, amplified. Her eyes are filled with horror and he sees his reflexion inside her dark orbs.

He doesn’t see the body of an older man — He sees a Raven, bringer of death.

He became the Raven.

He killed her.

He tried to save her. He killed her.

And he screams. His cries join Clara’s, as she slowly falls into the ground. And suddenly there is nothing but pain. It burns, it aches, it’s so damn excruciating he cannot breathe. He screams at the top of his lungs — He screams the loss of his beloved companion and friend.

He wakes up in his chair, by the library, sweaty, his breathing ragged. The Doctor looks around, lost, shaking with all his might. The TARDIS tries to reassure him by humming — which is usually all it takes to calm him down. Not this time. This time, it takes him about twenty minute to calm the erratic beating of both of his hearts, to wipe the sweat out of his forehead. Regaining some sort of calm, he checks his wristwatch. 

He has been asleep for fifteen minutes. The memory of Clara Oswald follows him everywhere, even during his catnaps. A constant reminder that he has failed to save her. Quickly, he tries to hang on to the image of Clara, to remember her face, her voice, but the picture is already fleeting and he is forgetting again. He focuses hard, he tries to write down the way she looks, and talks, but before he manages to lay it down on paper, she is gone.

He remembers her name. The feeling of her. He remembers their adventures briefly — but the rest is gone, replaced by a void he can never fill.

And it kills him.

The Doctor sighs, and reaches for his journal. He keeps the subject of his dreams here, so he doesn’t forget. He likes to keep track — however silly it may be. Like every day for the past few years, he writes down one word. Her name.

_ Clara. _

Her name fills every pages of the book. It’s all he has been able to dream about. Her, his forgotten companion. She is in his every dreams and nightmares and that is his curse.

He gets to see her, once in a while, in the realms of fantasies. And whenever he gets back into the real world, he forgets.

Sometimes, he doesn’t know which one is a dream and which is the nightmare.

  
  



End file.
